


sharp objects

by sundermount



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bloodplay, Established Relationship, Knifeplay, M/M, Mentions of violence/possessiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundermount/pseuds/sundermount
Summary: Cutting me open, healing me fine.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	sharp objects

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting with me for a long time, i'm relieved to finally have it out.

Dimitri tilts Felix’s chin up with the sharp tip of the dagger, his other hand firm in Felix’s hair. So much care to ensure steel does not break skin, even when he intends it to.

He traces the flat of it over Felix’s cheek. It skims his face, scraping off a layer of fuzz he wasn’t aware existed. Felix doesn’t dare exhale, as if doing so would bring him that scant hair’s breadth closer to the cold of it.

Felix struggles to hold himself still as he lies before Dimitri, trembling as he fights the urge to flinch away.

Dimitri smiles down at him. The look in his eye is kind for now, a counterpoint to the blade slowly warming against Felix’s skin. 

_Say the word whenever you need, and I’ll stop._

To look at how he wields the dagger now—it is so far from how he was, all those months back, when he’d first approached Felix about it in that shy, halting way he hadn’t been since the beginning of their relationship.

Weaponry and the threat of danger in foreplay was not a new concept to them, but the weapon in question had always been in Felix’s hand. A short knife used to scrape hair off chin while he was sat in Dimitri’s lap, positioned over his growing hardness and whispering about how it would be _so easy_ to end his life then and there, should his blade slip.

Dimitri would often spend while still clothed, so easily pushed over the edge after being denied for long enough. One unexpected nick to his throat after his skin had been cleaned of hair and lather and his cock would pulse, adding to the mess already soaking through his front, wet enough to stain Felix’s breeches.

But this—wielding a weapon and drawing blood—was new to Dimitri, who would often rely on nothing but his own brute strength to force Felix’s hand.

Felix had taken Dimitri’s wrists in his hands, grasping the dagger carefully, as he would a small child. He’d slid into his lap, eyes serious on Dimitri’s face.

“You want this,” he whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air between them.

He’d removed the dagger from Dimitri’s grasp, unsheathing it from leather, tracing a path from his neck down to his torso. Dragged it down his inner thigh as Dimitri had swallowed and followed it, his gaze unblinking. “To mark me up with this, and make me feel good.”

“I need it.” Dimitri’s choked reply was raw with _want_ and anguish and guilt and lust.

Dimitri was an obedient student who took to learning diligently. Felix had taught him the best way to wield, to make the sort of clean, shallow cut that he would want; to spill blood and sting flesh, not butcher. They’d practised on overripe fruit, their softness meant to emulate the give of flesh.

He’d offered to demonstrate on himself, Dimitri’s hand on his own as he guided the dagger, but Dimitri had rejected the idea with grave vehemence. Felix had not pressed it.

His efforts had clearly paid off—Dimitri’s grip is steady and sure, the way it moves deliberate and purposeful. Dimitri’s hand curls around the grip and his thumb runs along the crossguard, an echo of how it would do the same along the underside of Felix’s cockhead when he has a hand on Felix in the privacy of their chambers.

The blade traces along an old wound of Felix’s, long healed and faintly scarred white.

“I wish I could kill the man who did this to you again,” he confesses. “I want all of you to be mine, and the knowledge that there are parts of you that have been marked by people not worthy of the blades they wield—it tugs at me, and I want to rend your skin from your body so you will grow a new one and can be wholly _mine_.”

Felix sinks a hand in the hair on the back of Dimitri’s head, forcing his gaze away from both dagger and scar to make eye contact.

“Understand that no matter what beastliness you intend to exact upon my body, it will remain mine and mine alone,” he says, commanding.

“Yes, my love.” Dimitri ducks his head, kissing down the scar and inhaling deep, taking his fill of the scent of Felix’s skin. The dagger still lies on his body, and it unsettles him to see the sharp point of it next to where Dimitri’s eye had been. 

“You are _blessed_ that I have ever allowed you to take me at all.”

“I am the luckiest man in all of Fódlan.” His gaze is loving, but bloodlust and the beast lurk beneath, already so close to breaking the surface. The hairs on Felix’s arm raise, and his body’s instinct is an old one, wrought into the bones of humanity: the urge to flee and retreat to safer ground when faced with a predator.

Dimitri nuzzles into his palm as he moves to cup his head. Felix’s breath catches in his throat; it never fails to stun him, how willingly Dimitri’s monstrous side has tamed itself to his hand.

“As am I.”

Felix runs a finger up the blade, purposefully nicking the skin of his fingertip. A bead of blood wells up, and he places it on Dimitri’s tongue, his mouth already open as he watches and breathes heavily.

“Suck.” Dimitri’s mouth closes around his finger, moaning as he laps at Felix’s bloodied fingertip. Felix feels the twitch of his own cock against his thigh.

“Now. Was it not your intention to rend my flesh?”

Dimitri sits back, moving Felix into a more comfortable position, hauling Felix’s thighs over his own. He is nearly _salivating_ , as if starved for days on end and then presented with a feast entirely for himself and struggling not to overgorge.

Dimitri lays the flat of the dagger on Felix’s thigh and slowly _drags_ it up his body, a reverse of how Felix had done so when Dimitri had first approached him. It traces the cut of his hips, the firm of his stomach up to his sternum, around his pec. 

The blood from his fingertip trails in its wake, marking the dagger’s path on his skin.

“You’re all mine.” Dimitri sounds drunk off anticipation; if he was a man who had less experience with denying himself, the blade would have already sliced into Felix, letting drip rivulets of blood.

Felix hyperfocuses on the glint of the tip as it slides down the curve of his chest. Dimitri sighs, his shaky exhale the only indicator of his nervousness and anticipation, the act he’s desired for so long being so close at hand.

The dagger rounds the underside and drags up to his hardening nipple. Dimitri presses the flat against Felix’s chest as he arches, pushing into it. The blade is so warm from the heat of his own skin, but nowhere near as scalding as the hand Dimitri has on his hip.

The sharp edge lines up to a scar on his chest, fitting perfectly, as if a lock to a key. Dimitri’s grip tightens on the handle as he pushes it down even more, his gaze on Felix steady. Focused. Assessing.

 _He’s taunting me_ , Felix realises. _He wants me to ask for it_.

Dimitri halts the knife where it currently lies, and Felix can feel how shy it is of breaking skin; the sharp edge just _waiting_ , an animal in the bushes so patient for its next kill, for the moment it can pounce and sink teeth and fang in skin and _rip_.

“Please.” Felix grits out. 

Dimitri’s answering grin is all beast, and Felix shivers.

“My pretty Felix,” Dimitri leans down to hiss in his ear, the tip now caressing his throat. He knows he must be a sight; a fellow predator playing at being prey for Dimitri alone, unarmed and vulnerable and all for his taking. “Thank you.”

He draws the dagger over the scar on Felix’s collarbone, and Felix gasps at the sting of it. And the next. And the one after that.

Felix knowshe’s bleeding from the cuts Dimitri made, but it still comes as a surprise when he looks down at his own body and sees the lines of blood beading and welling, so many more than he’d thought.

He takes a moment to marvel at his own tutoring and Dimitri’s skill; the cuts line up with his scars _perfectly_.

Dimitri licks at the fresh cut he’s made over Felix’s pelvis. It only soothes the hurt for a moment, returning as soon as Dimitri rises up for a kiss, feeding Felix’s blood back to him as he presses their torsos together.

He sits up and smears the blood on his own body, the look on his face satisfied. “Look at how you have marked me, Felix. How you have left yourself on me.” 

It is a _sight_ —Dimitri, his skin and hair pale, contrasting sharply with the bright red of Felix’s blood. Dimitri lays the dagger over his lips, and he is so overwhelmed he can barely feel the wetness on it. 

“Open wide, my dearest. Taste yourself.” Dimitri slips a thumb in his mouth and tilts his head back, swiping the dagger over his tongue before he leans down to kiss him again.

“Touch me,” Felix garbles. His skin feels over-sensitised and tacky; from his blood or sweat, he does not know. “Touch me, you beast. _Touch me_.” 

The look in Dimitri’s eye is wild and crazed. He smears the wet from the dagger on Felix’s cock and Felix shouts, jerking, aching for touch.

Dimitri presses their cocks together and fists them as he snarls. “Come for me.”

Felix lets go. _Thank you_ , he thinks he sobs, but he is unsure.

He drifts for a while after his orgasm, tired to the point of near-sleep. He feels Dimitri rise from the bed and listens as he rinses and wrings the washcloth they’d set out at the beginning of the night.

“How are you, Felix? Speak to me, my love.” The bed sinks with Dimitri’s weight once he returns and begins to bathe Felix’s wounds, wiping blood off his skin and exacting utmost care to not pull at the wounds of his own creation. 

Felix groans and lifts an arm to swat in the direction of his voice. Dimitri pauses in his ministrations to catch his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Felix.” His voice wobbles faintly. “I’m so glad you’re fine.”

Felix groans again, shifting on his side while trying not to pull at his wounds. Dimitri had done a fair number on him—fresh cuts litter his arms and legs, as well as his torso and back. He’s not sure if the stock of vulneraries and medicinal salves they’d prepared would be enough; the sheer number of scars he’d gathered over the years had completely eluded him.

“Shut up. You know I—I wanted to do this, for you. Do what you need to do and return to me after you’ve finished.”

Dimitri tended to get in a mood after their more intense bedroom activities that had him as aggressor. He’d mentioned that caring for Felix helped calm his nerves after—that it settled him, knowing Felix was fine, because he could trust in his own ability to care for Felix. That he could put him back with the same hands that took him apart.

It is a while before he deems his work finished, the candle by their bedside almost burned to a stub. He slips into bed and wraps Felix up in his arms, pressing a kiss to his ear and cheek, as he does every night.

“Sleep well, my Felix.”

Felix turns, and kisses the arm under his head.

“Sweet dreams, boar.”

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to ms taylor swift for the summary


End file.
